


Take Our Time

by kay_emm_gee



Series: Bellarke Fic Week: February 2015 [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 19:55:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3353330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kay_emm_gee/pseuds/kay_emm_gee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Day 1: Valentine's Day</p>
<p>Clarke had planned (happily) on spending Valentine's Day alone, that is, until her roommate's brother shows up on her doorstep, stranded in the city because of the blizzard, with nowhere else to stay...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Our Time

**Author's Note:**

> Because New England is getting bombarded by blizzards and it seemed like the perfect way for these two to meet ;) (Credit to mata-matahari for the "snowed in" idea!)

Clarke glared at the door from her very comfortable, very cozy position on the couch. She had just gotten settled in her cocoon of blankets (because jacking up the heat even with the raging blizzard outside was not worth the extra money it would cost her and Octavia that month) when their apartment doorbell sounded. Sighing, Clarke debated ignoring it. If Wells had trekked all the way over here tonight just so she wouldn’t be alone on Valentine’s Day (because really, that apparently was a mortal sin in everyone’s book but her own), well, then he could stay out there in the blustering wind and cold. Clarke was perfectly content to curl up in her living room, surrounded by copious amounts of salty snacks and holiday-appropriate candy with no one to hog it, watching reruns of Grey’s Anatomy. No boys allowed.

The doorbell chimed again, and very reluctantly Clarke rose to buzz her friend inside, because this blizzard—the third one in as many weeks—really was quite brutal. Yanking open the door, she heard clunking footsteps climb the stairs to her third-floor apartment.

“You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?” Clarke called down as she stood in the doorway. “I told you, as a proudly single, independent woman kicking ass in her third year of medical school, I am completely fine spending Valentine’s Day alo—oh.”

Her visitor had finally reached her apartment, and it wasn’t Wells. Tall and freckled, he had brown eyes (handsome, warm ones), and snow crusted almost every part of him. As he stamped it from his boots, Clarke leaned back into her apartment just a bit, hand tightening on the door because _stranger danger_.

“Sorry, um, who are you?” She asked warily.

“Bellamy—I’m Octavia’s brother,” he said with a polite smile. Taking off his glove, he stuck out a hand, which Clarke shook, startled at how cold his fingers were. He continued, “You’re Clarke, right? The roommate?”

“Yes, hi, sorry, I should’ve recognized you. Octavia must have a hundred pictures of you in her room. She’s not here right now, if you’re looking for her. She’s with Lincoln.”

At his blank look, she added, “Her boyfriend’s. For Valentine’s Day.”

Watching his face tighten, brow furrowing in annoyance, Clarke realized she might need to apologize to Octavia later, because clearly her brother did not know about Lincoln. Bellamy didn’t say a word, and neither did she. Just as Clarke was about to hit her awkward quota, he spoke up, tone slipping towards wryness.

“So, can I come in?”

“Sure, but, um—” Clarke hesitated, wondering how much more trouble she was about to get Octavia in, but, screw it, the cat was already out of the bag. “I am pretty sure she isn’t coming back tonight. Or tomorrow. Or probably until the weekend is over.” 

“Well, at least I know why she didn’t answer her phone.” Then a pained expression flashed across his flushed face, probably realizing exactly what was keeping his sister so preoccupied. Clarke almost laughed but managed to stifle it because he looked so distraught.

Then Bellamy sighed, muttering something about annoying, secret-keeping sisters under his breath, and said, “Look, I was on a stopover here and my outgoing flight got cancelled because of the storm, delayed until Monday. I was hoping to crash with O this weekend because most of the hotel rooms are booked. I know she’s not here, but, I still need someplace to stay.”

Though she groaned internally (because playing hostess had _not_ been the plan for tonight), Clarke slapped on a welcoming smile and stepped back to let him into the apartment. “Sure thing, come on in.”

As he shed his layers and toed off his boots, Clarke shifted uneasily, really wanting to just plop back down on the couch and ignore him, but that would be rude, and her mother had raised her better than that.

“The place is pretty small,” she said, watching him shake snow out of his brown curls. “Kitchen’s to the left, and bedrooms to the right, bathroom is right here. Do you want water, or something to eat?” She trailed off at the end, realizing he was trying not to smile as he took in the extensive spread of snacks surrounding the couch. “As you can see, we have plenty of food,” she finished a bit sheepishly.

“Don’t suppose you a have a change of clothes that would fit me?” Bellamy asked in a hopeful, teasing tone.

Clarke smiled hesitantly, because he wasn’t going to like her answer. “Well, uh, there might be some of Lincoln’s clothes in Octavia’s room.” _Oh, she is going to kill me._

Bellamy closed his eyes and huffed. “Great,” he muttered. “Where exactly?”

“Her room is on the left, and the clothes should be in the bottom dresser drawer.”

“Thanks,” he said, throwing her a rueful smile as he passed by to walk down the hallway. A wintery chill still radiated off of him, as well as a wave of cologne, and Clarke shivered, not knowing if the cold or the enticing smell was responsible for that.  

_So much for no boys allowed_ , Clarke thought absently as she retreated to the couch. By the time she had wrapped herself up again, Bellamy was padding back into the living room, dressed in low-slung black sweatpants and a loose-fitting grey T-shirt. Throwing her an acknowledging half-smile that made her swallow a bit harder (because boys in sweats had always been her downfall), he headed for the kitchen.

“There’s beer in the fridge, and other stuff, if you want it,” Clarke called out as she played with the remote. Hopefully, he would grab something and go back to Octavia’s room, leaving her to enjoy her Netflix marathon in peaceful solitude.

As she heard the distinct pop of a bottle being opened, she hit play, hoping her unexpected guest would take a hint that she was occupied. Unfortunately, he chose to plunk down in the ratty armchair to her right, slumping down with legs outstretched, one crossed over the other.

“Grey’s?” He asked lightly.

“Yes,” Clarke replied, biting her tongue in preemptive annoyance, expecting typical male judgment from him in _three, two…_

“Pre-George dying or post-George dying?”

Startled, Clarke threw a surprised glance his way.

“Octavia _is_ my sister,” he said simply, amusedly raising an eyebrow at her obvious disbelief.

“Post,” Clarke admitted, her own amusement growing. “The Mercy West interns have just arrived.”

Bellamy nodded, turning his attention to the drama unfolding on screen. Clarke did the same, though his presence kept distracting her. Not that he was doing anything distracting; in fact, the only noise he made was a soft rustling or occasional clink as he drank his beer. Still, Clarke had trouble keeping up with the hospital shenanigans, her senses on high alert with this strange guy— _Octavia’s brother_ , she reminded herself—In her empty apartment, on Valentine’s Day no less.

When one of the surgeons started spewing incorrect medical information, though, all thoughts of Bellamy faded away. Huffing, Clarke shoved some candy hearts in her mouth before mumbling about what idiot would choose an in-patient procedure when clearly the patient’s symptoms were mild enough to warrant an out-patient one. She chuckled as Cristina piped up with the same idea and had completely forgotten about Bellamy until he spoke up.

“Ah, right, you’re in medicine.”

Turning towards him, candy still clenched in her hand, she threw him an apologetic glance. “Yeah, sorry, Octavia hates when I do that. Says I ruin the magic of it.”

Bellamy laughed. “She is very particular about shows or movies. She refuses to watch anything remotely historical with me anymore, because I can’t help but point out the anachronisms, which frankly, are pretty rampant across the board, no matter how lauded the film. You think they pay the consultants enough money to get it right, but the amount of times I’ve seen the wrong armor or weapons used in the completely wrong period,” he trailed off, shaking his head.

Clarke smiled, because clearly he understood her pain. “Usually Grey’s isn’t too bad, little mistakes here and there, so I can tolerate it pretty well. But there was this one scene, in season two,” Clarke paused, reaching for the remote. “Here, I’ll just show you, because it’s pretty ridiculous.”

As she clicked back through the episode options, she realized how much he undoubtedly did not want to hear about her Grey’s pet peeves. Quickly, she blurted, “Sorry, you probably don’t care about that. We can just keep watching this one.”

Bellamy grinned, gesturing toward the TV with his free hand. “By all means, go ahead. You may as well get it out of your system, while O’s not around.”

Happily, Clarke turned back to the TV, locating the episode and fast-forwarding to the part of interest. As the operating room scene played, she narrated what was going on, and why the technicians would never lay the instruments out like that, and how going in that way would actually increase the patient’s risk of complications, and that an intern would be on charting duty for, like, two weeks if they ever handled the scalpel like that. Bellamy actually seemed interested, asking her how it would really be done, laughing when she rolled her eyes at the dramatic conversation accompanying the scene. Before Clarke knew it, they were onto another example, with her again narrating criticisms and also adding in her own story about a similar procedure she had observed during her last rotation. As she passed Bellamy a bag of chips, which he immediately started wolfing down, she switched to another scene, and pretty soon, an hour had passed without her even noticing.

Bellamy got up to get another beer, asking if she wanted one as well, and Clarke nodded, because why the hell not. Worried that he would get bored if they kept on with Grey’s, she browsed for other options. When she came across a popular historical fiction show, she smiled, queuing up the first episode. As he came back in and handed her an open bottle, she passed over the remote and instructed, “Your turn now.”

Glancing towards the screen, Bellamy grinned. “Oh, you are going to regret this.”

Soon, he was the one who couldn’t shut up, scoffing at the apparently wildly inaccurate political terms being used and spewing off random facts about how the court wouldn’t actually be present for an announcement like that, instead the emperor would gather his council in private, deliberating for hours before he brought it into discussion with the wider court. Surprisingly, Clarke found herself more interested in Bellamy’s factoids and analysis than the actual show. Maybe it was the beer, but she found herself flushing at the low, excited timber of his voice, returning his quick grins with encouraging ones of her own.

“Wait,” he interrupted suddenly, shifting forward in his seat. “Have you seen The Knick?”

“The what?”

“Get out your computer,” he replied eagerly.

Shooting him a puzzled look, Clarke extricated herself from her blanket nest to retrieve her laptop from her room. When she returned, Bellamy had moved to the couch, carefully leaving her arrangement intact.

“Hope you don’t mind, I’ll be able see it better from here,” he asked, and she shook her head in agreement.

After setting up the computer on the coffee table, she let Bellamy take over as he started to explain the premise of the show, which was a historical medical drama. Staring at his profile while he prepped the pilot episode, she noticed that the intense dusting of freckles high on his cheeks actually extended down his jaw as well, trailing off down his neck. Her thoughts lazily drifted to what it would feel like to kiss her way up the freckled path, before she startled herself back to reality.

Glancing nervously at Bellamy, who was still working on the laptop, Clarke blew out a quiet, relived breath because he seemed to not have noticed her lapse in attention. _Octavia’s brother, Octavia’s brother,_ her mind warned. Settling back into the couch, she fixed her eyes on the ceiling until the episode began, not wanting to encourage any more tempting thoughts of Bellamy and what he would taste like. The cushions behind her shifted as he settled in as well, and it took almost half the pilot for Clarke to relax again.

“You want to watch another?” Bellamy asked hesitantly when the episode ended. Clearly, she hadn’t hid her tension as well as she had thought.

“Yes, definitely,” she responded with conviction, because the show actually was really interesting. Willing herself to calm down, she grabbed a bag of chocolate kisses off the coffee table, taking a few for herself before offering them to Bellamy.

“I’m surprised there are any of these left in the apartment,” he said, reaching into the bag as he started the next episode. “O inhales them.”

“Which is why I keep a secret stash in my room,” Clarke informed him with a knowing grin.

“Smart girl,” he replied, tossing an amused glance at her over his broad shoulder. When he leaned back this time, he had moved a bit closer, so that his shoulder was barely brushing hers. Clarke shivered, because despite her layers of blankets, she was still freezing, and Bellamy was giving off heat like an overworked furnace. Keeping an eye on him, she wiggled a bit closer, trying to not make her movements obvious. He didn’t budge, and she smiled to herself. As his warmth seeped through her fleece barrier, Clarke felt her entire body unwind, muscles loosening until she could barely keep her head upright. Shifting again, she positioned herself so her head could rest against the back of the couch.

Bellamy glanced down, expression concerned. “You have enough room?”

Clarke nodded, then shushed him teasingly, pointing at the screen. He smiled, also turning his attention back to the show. Slowly, as the episodes progressed and the night got later, the winds of the winter storm still whistling outside, their conversation died down as drowsiness won out. At the start of the fourth episode, Clarke could barely keep her eyes open. Relenting, she decided to rest them just for a few minutes, deciding listening would be sufficient to keep up with the plot. The actors’ voices began to flicker in and out as her consciousness wavered. Right before she dropped off, she felt her head roll onto something solid and warm, but she was too far under to figure out what had happened, instead nuzzling into the heat and letting herself be pulled into a comfortable sleep.

* * *

Clarke woke with a pain in her neck and numb toes. As she rolled her head a bit, her cheek brushed against something soft, and she opened her eyes to see grey fabric. Gradually, Clarke catalogued her position, realizing she was still on the couch, and so was Bellamy. In fact, she was curled into his side, his arm around her back with a hand resting on her hip. Her blanket was rucked up around her waist, leaving her feet exposed to the chilly apartment air. They must have fallen asleep while watching the show last night. That was typical for her (and endlessly amusing for the prank-inclined Octavia), but Bellamy’s lapse in consciousness was a surprise, especially given that Clarke would bet all of the chocolate kisses in her stash that she had fallen asleep long before he had.

Shifting, because as warm as Bellamy was, her position was doing no favors for her neck muscles, she reached down slowly to cover her feet with her blanket. At the movement, though, Bellamy began to shift as well. Clarke froze, because, well, how do you explain falling asleep against your roommate’s brother who you met about twelve hours ago? Then she felt his arm tighten around her waist, fingers brushing the exposed skin there, and in a rough, sleep-thickened voice murmured, “Good morning. Wanna finish watching that episode?”

With an eager nod and hum of approval, Clarke sat up to press play. As she leaned back into the couch, Bellamy grinned and put his arm around her, pulling her against him again, this time in a more comfortable position. Resting a hand on his thigh, she drummed her fingers along to the beat of the opening credits. When he began to whisper about what exactly was wrong with the hats the men were wearing ( _completely wrong brim style, come on, it’s they’re not even trying now_ ), Clarke smiled, thinking of how very lucky it was that Octavia would be gone the whole weekend. Maybe, later, he would move his lips closer to her ear and kiss her there, or maybe she would tilt her head up and press her lips to his in the middle of a sentence. Maybe they’d stay on the couch a while before moving to the bedroom. For now, though, they could take it slow with the apartment to themselves. 

_Thank God for Valentine’s Day._


End file.
